


Commitment

by leavinghope



Series: Home [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fake Marriage, First Kiss, Friendship, Humor, Love, M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leavinghope/pseuds/leavinghope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A serial killer, a poisoned cake, a fake wedding, and a chance to say all the things they should have said before The Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commitment

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of my post-Reichenbach series “Home”. However, this story, as all the previous ones, can be read as a standalone. I hope you enjoy it.

“So, any ideas?”

Sherlock Holmes looked up at the sound of John Watson’s voice. The detective glared at his flatmate.

John smiled as he took off his coat. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Sherlock growled in frustration and pushed back in his chair. The table in front of him was strewn with photographs of cakes and corpses. “This case is absurd.” He slumped his shoulders and sighed dramatically as John placed a sandwich in front of him. “Must I?”

Placing an open packet of crisps in the center of the table and opening up the wrapper of his own sandwich, John joined Sherlock at the table for lunch. “Yes.”

As they ate, the two men continued to pour over the photographs. New Scotland Yard had contacted them the previous evening after several people became seriously ill and one died at the wedding of a minor royal. While John worked at the surgery, Sherlock had spent the morning with Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, gathering information on other gatherings where people died after consuming cake.

“Not all of these are wedding cakes?”

“No,” said Sherlock. “The more recent cases are, though.”

John ate a crisp before asking, “Any other connections?”

Sherlock rattled off a series of facts. “Everyone affected was exposed to the same toxin. That’s how I located some of these more obscure cases of ‘food poisoning’. The common item that all victims consumed was cake. The dosage does not appear to be dependent on slice size. All involved a party of some sort, with one exception, and the guests of honor were afflicted each time. The one exception involved a couple in their home. Doctors were unable to come up with a specific food item for the couple, because time had passed before the discovery of their bodies and long-term exposure to the toxin had an unfortunate effect on their abdominal cavities.  However, they had also been exposed to this same toxin at their own wedding, some time before. The recent cases involved more prominent gatherings. The rich or celebrity. The killer is escalating.”

John shuffled the photos around some more. He was looking for clues, but he also knew Sherlock would continue to eat if John remained silent and eating near him.  After awhile, though, John thought that he noted a trend in the images before him.

“The couple at home… were they celebrating their first anniversary?”

Sherlock found a document and scanned it quickly. “It was close to that time. Why?”

“Often couples will freeze the top of their wedding cake and eat it to celebrate their first anniversary.”

“Excellent, John. Your knowledge of sentiment is proving helpful.”

John tossed a crisp off of Sherlock’s head, leaving crumbs in the dark curls.

“Any other ideas?”

After looking at Sherlock, John realized the question was sincere. It gave him the courage to continue exploring his hunch.

“Different cake vendors?”

“Yes.”

“Different caterers?”

“Yes.”

“Different locales?”

Sherlock huffed impatiently. “Yes. No common staff members amongst the caterers, event staff, and bakeries involved.”

John placed the palms of his hands flat on the table in front of him. He wanted to share his idea, but his friendship with Sherlock was only recently mended after three years apart. He did not know if he could bear the detective’s acerbic evisceration of his thoughts.

“John.”

Dark blue eyes met clear indescribable ones.

“You’ll laugh at me.”

Sherlock smiled. “Of course, I will.  Who else makes me laugh?”

After a moment, John smiled back at his friend. He had nothing to fear but hurt pride. The man in front of him had died to keep him safe… he’d certainly forgive a stupid idea.

“Alright. Mary and I had not planned to have a large traditional wedding, but we did spend some time talking with one of her colleagues who had a wedding cake business on the side.”  John picked up a few of the photos.  “See these? These are custom cake toppers.”

Sherlock leaned over the table. “How can you tell?”

“For one thing, they’re edible, so you can’t buy them off the shelf. Also, these are all either sculpts of the bride and groom or pop culture references. I think they were all special orders.”

Sherlock continued to flip through the images. “Oh! Look, John, in some cases, the decorations along the sides of the cake are obviously the same style as the toppers. That could explain the different dosages.”

“Really?” John was astounded. Sherlock was taking him seriously?

“It is the most viable hypothesis we have so far.” Sherlock leaned back in chair and stared intently at his flatmate. “Well done.”

“Really?” John was somewhat embarrassed by how high and squeaky his voice was.

“Repetition, John, is diminishing just how attractive you are right now.” And with that, Sherlock winked and earned a rude hand gesture and several more crisps being tossed in his hair. “While you shower away the surgery, as you obviously want to do, I’ll investigate your ideas a bit.”

The doctor smiled, running his fingers through his hair. He definitely needed a shower.  John cleaned away the remains of their lunch and left the detective at the table, where he texted with great enthusiasm.

Sherlock was still texting when John came back into the sitting room about an hour later. His gleeful facial expression and the jaunty set of his shoulders indicated Sherlock’s pleasure with how the investigation was going.  A few minutes later, John handed a cup of tea to Sherlock and sipped his own, while awaiting Sherlock’s verdict.

“John, I do believe your hypothesis is correct. Now we need to test it.”

“How do you propose doing that?”

Sherlock leaned over the table. “I found the website of the artist who makes the toppers. I have contacted the pastry chef Mycroft uses for official functions, and she is willing to make a cake and contact this artist for the…” He waved his hands dismissively at the pictures of the cakes. “She attended Le Cordon Bleu with the chef who catered the royals’ reception and remains acquainted with him, so it makes sense they would have talked about how wonderful the decorations were.” Sherlock leaned back in his chair and frowned. “Now we just need to find an acceptably high profile couple who would be willing to get married in a hurry, or fake it well enough, and order this cake.”

John pursed his lips, not believing what he was about to suggest. “What about us?”

Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion. “What about us?”

Nervously tapping the table, John continued. “We are high profile. People think we’ve been shagging for years. The press had a grand old time when Mary and I ended our relationship, and I moved back in here. If we announced our engagement, it would get heavy press coverage.”

“But, John…”

“It would be quite the scandal, don’t you think? Your return from the dead, my recent breakup… who would be more high profile for a few weeks?”

Sherlock nodded, but appeared unhappy. “We could arrange for a quick ceremony, stating that we did not want to waste any more time because we’ve already lost three years.”

“Yeah.” John cleared his throat. The loss of three years of companionship hurt him deeply, and he suspected Sherlock felt the same way.

“We would involve Mycroft and Lestrade. Mycroft, because he’d figure it out anyway and it would heighten the status of his pastry chef.  Lestrade, because he could have a field-testing kit at the reception. The toxin shows up quickly once you know to look for it. But…” Sherlock hesitated.

“But what?”

“We would not be able to tell anyone else the wedding was fake. Too much risk someone would talk.”

“Yeah, I know your opinion on that.”

Sherlock emitted a sound of pain, and John immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry,” both men said at the same time.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, John said, “So what should we ask to be made for us?”

“Not sculpts of us, please.”

“It’s true, your hair would be a challenge.”

“And you would be so short next to me…oh, maybe we’d get a discount.”

Knowing an effective way to annoy Sherlock, John suggested, “Deerstalker, definitely a deerstalker.”

“A gun.”

“A pink phone.”

“A laptop.”

“A violin.”

“A tea cup.”

“A pill.”

“No. Mycroft and Lestrade would misread that.”

“A blue scarf.”

“A terribly out of fashion jumper. Wait, that’s redundant.” Sherlock’s eyes sparkled as he teased his best friend.

“A monstrous hound.”

“A bad poem.”

“A corpse.”

“Oh, I’d like that.”

“Bluebell.”

After the giggling subsided a bit, John said, “Okay, it’s clear we have plenty ideas for toppers. Any for the side decorations?”

“A cascade of bullets.”

“Rain.”

“Drops of blood.”

“You falling off of St. Bart’s.”

Both men looked at each other with shocked expressions before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, god,” gasped John. “I cannot believe I said that.”

“Well, no one would doubt the cake was a custom one for us,” said Sherlock, clearly relieved that John joked about such a painful time. John was relieved, too. He knew he’d never be completely rid of the pain of the three years when he thought Sherlock was dead, but he also understood he could not actively hold on to that pain or use it as an excuse to punish Sherlock.

“Hmm…” John frowned. “I seem to recall wedding cakes can be assembled up to weeks in advance, individual components kept in freezers.”

“People are paying all that money to eat defrosted cake?”

“For someone who has to be forced to eat, you sound awfully offended.”

Sherlock sniffed. “I do enjoy good food, John, when I want to eat.”

“We’ll just ask the pastry chef to come up with a small cake with very fresh ingredients to be assembled on site.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up. “Oh, depending on the decorations, the artist might need to be on site himself. But how do we keep him around for the reception? If it’s a matter of timing, we want to make sure he’s around when we are, but that can’t be before the ceremony or it would look suspicious.”

John sighed. “We’ll make the requirements clear to the pastry chef. If she’s one of Mycroft’s, I bet she even has security clearance. And, what if we ask the artist to stick around for photos? If he’s escalating, that should appeal to his ego.”

“Fantastic, John.”

Maddeningly, John felt himself blush. “We’ve got a bit of a role reversal going on today.”

His voice and expression incredibly soft, Sherlock said, “I’ve always considered you to be my partner.”

John focused on his clasped hands. “It feels good to be working with you again. Feels good to be home.”

There was an awkward silence, eventually broken by the gathering of the photo evidence by Sherlock. He said, “You should tell Mary the truth. I’d hate for her to think you were lying about the end of your relationship.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” John smiled, thinking of a few of the conversations he and Mary had before she left for her new laboratory in California. “You do realize she’d be thrilled for us and send a present if I didn’t tell her.”

“Do you think she would give us a thin section of a damaged hypothalamus for a wedding gift?” Sherlock looked up at John hopefully.

Standing up to take his empty teacup back to the kitchen, John mockingly said, “I just don’t know what I see in you sometimes.”  As he passed Sherlock, he ruffled the dark curls and grinned at his friend’s irritation as crisp crumbs tumbled all around him.

***

Sherlock stood before the registrar with John, both of them responding at all of the appropriate times in the ceremony. Sherlock looked at his friend and knew John was also going over the possible complications to their plan to nab the killer at their wedding reception. Therefore, it shocked both of them when the officiant said, “I’ve been told the two of you prepared some personal vows that you want to share with your loved ones.”

_Mycroft_ , Sherlock thought. He met John’s eyes and beamed an apology in his direction as he thought of the various ways he could kill his brother. John’s expression changed from startled to amused as he witnessed his friend’s distress.

John cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll start.” He collected his thoughts for a few moments and then nodded his head once, with determination. “Very few are granted a second chance to say the things they wished they’d said, to do the things they’d wished they’d done.” John locked eyes with Sherlock. “When we met, I was at the lowest point in my life. I was so alone. Within forty-eight hours, I was swept up in your brilliance and your madness, and it seemed like we were meant for each other. And when you were gone…” John’s voice cracked, and Sherlock’s once doubted heart ached for him. “When you were gone, I realized I’d never told you that you were my best friend. The best man I’d ever known. The most important person in my life. That you’d brought me back to life and I owed you so much for that. Sherlock, I love you more than I have ever loved anything or anyone, and I will love you until the end of my days.” John exhaled, and his smile expressed his relief.

Sherlock knew John had spoken his truth and freed Sherlock to speak his, if he could only find the words. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “It is remarkable and unexpected to be here, especially after the events of the past few years. But perhaps without those events, I would not have learned…” Sherlock closed his eyes and spoke through clenched teeth. “Your health, your happiness, your life… you are more important than the work. I do not know how that happened. There are many times I am resentful.” At John’s snicker, Sherlock opened his eyes. He smiled openly and frankly at the man in front of him. “You made me a man who never wants to disappoint you. You taught me the value of friendship and sentiment. I do not believe in fate, John Watson, but the best argument for its existence is that I met you. I will do my best to be the partner that you deserve, and I will often fail, but I can promise that I will love you until the end of my days.”

Molly Hooper sniffled and Mrs. Hudson wept. Mike Stamford cuddled his wife, and Harry Watson held Clara’s hand. Sally Donovan exchanged a shy smile with her boyfriend Paul. Greg Lestrade had his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. Sherlock risked a glance at Mycroft and was surprised to see genuine happiness in his gaze. John looked at Sherlock with unguarded affection, and Sherlock caught his breath at the sight of it.

The registrar told the men to join hands and administered the rest of their vows.

“And now you may kiss your husband.”

_Kiss. Kiss?  How could they have possibly forgotten to discuss the kiss?_ Sherlock tried to disguise his dismay as shyness and barely touched his mouth to John’s. 

From his seat next to Mycroft, Greg called out, encouragingly, “You can do better than that!”

Sherlock cringed. John reached up to take Sherlock’s face in his hands. He whispered, “Trust me?”  At Sherlock’s subtle nod, John kissed him chastely, softly, but firmly. _Steady and warm, like John_ , Sherlock thought.  They broke apart and rested their foreheads together. John asked, “Alright?”  Sherlock smiled and kissed the tip of John’s nose in response.

John’s giggle reminded Sherlock of that first night together.  He had expected John to chastise him for stealing Lestrade’s ID, but instead John had laughed.  John Watson laughed at the absurdity of Sherlock Holmes and then he saved him. _Well, if that doesn’t encapsulate our entire relationship, nothing will_.  Then steady brave warm John reached out his hand to Sherlock, interlacing their fingers, and the two men giggled together down the aisle.

_***_

Mycroft stepped gingerly over the smashed cake and tea sandwiches scattered all over the floor, and he clapped his hands for attention.

“I anticipated that no wedding of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson would possibly happen without incident.” He gestured towards a door. “Angelo?”

Angelo and his staff walked into the room handling trays laden with antipasti, fresh bread, olive oil, tiramisu, and champagne. From his vantage point seated on a sofa with John, Sherlock experienced a rare moment of gratitude for his brother.

John patted Sherlock’s knee and said, “I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock watched the crowd in the reception hall and sighed with contentment. He replayed the events of the proceeding hour in his mind. He and John had posed for photographs with family, friends, and the suspected serial killer. The small reception area at the quaint country inn had been set up with comfortable couches and low tables around the perimeter of the room and a dance floor in the center. Along one wall, tea sandwiches, lemonade, and the quite beautiful wedding cake had been presented.  As a member of the catering staff began to slice the cake, the newly married couple regaled the suspect and the pastry chef with stories about each of the commissioned decorations. One of the slices quickly disappeared with Lestrade, who eventually walked by and gave a thumbs-up. Which, unfortunately, the killer saw. Sherlock smiled in remembrance. The killer toppled the table with the cake to the floor and tried to exit the room. However, the small dance floor was crowded, and the assembled group of friends was savvy enough to recognize a criminal needed to be apprehended. In the blur of events, Sherlock recalled that Molly tripped the killer and Mrs. Hudson hit him with a tray of sandwiches. But the shining moment was witnessing John as he pinned the suspect to the floor and grinned up at Sherlock, saying, “Best wedding ever.”

Sherlock could not agree more.

John flopped down on the sofa. “Here we are, husband.” He placed a plate of tiramisu and two glasses of champagne in front of them. “Having fun?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Looks like everyone else is, too.”

Angelo was making sure that everybody was well fed. Harry and Clara danced. Mike and his wife introduced Bill Murray and his family around. Greg, Sally, Paul, and Molly chatted surrounding a table covered with food. Anthea worked on her phone, but with a smile on her face and a glass of champagne at her side. Mycroft held out a hand to Mrs. Hudson and led her to the dance floor.  Everybody seemed so happy that Sherlock felt guilty they were celebrating a farce.

“Should we tell them now?” asked Sherlock.

John fed a forkful of tiramisu to Sherlock. “I’m pretty sure they already know.”

Sherlock allowed John to feed him several more bites before widening his eyes. “What are you doing?” Then he crinkled his nose in bemusement. “What am I doing?”

John laughed, and Sherlock joined in.  John ate a few bites of tiramisu and then reached for his champagne. “This has been a ridiculous day.”

Sherlock picked up his glass and clinked it against John’s. “Yes, yes, it has.”

_***_

John walked out of the honeymoon suite’s bathroom wearing one of the provided fluffy white bathrobes and toweling his hair dry. Sherlock had already placed a blanket and pillow on the sofa where he was seated, implying he was leaving the large bed free for John. He smiled to himself at the display of thoughtfulness and said, “Your turn for the shower now. I’m knackered. I think I’ll fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

Sherlock responded with a hum, and it was then John noticed Sherlock was looking at a piece of paper he held in both hands.

“What’s that?”

“It’s the signed marriage paperwork. Mycroft had it dropped off by courier, so we could see it had not been formally filed.” Sherlock looked up at John. “We do not have to get an annulment, because we were never officially married.”

At odds with his strange sense of disappointment, John said, “Well, good. Simplifies matters.”

While Sherlock sat quietly, John finished toweling his hair dry and threw the towel back in the bathroom. When he returned, Sherlock appeared nervous.

“Are you alright?”  

After a few false starts, Sherlock said, “Thank you.”

John walked over to sit on the arm of the sofa. “What for?”

“For giving me a nice wedding.  It’s the only time I’ll experience that. I never understood the point behind the ceremony, or marriage at all, really. But seeing people so happy for us...” Sherlock’s eyes met John’s steadily. “I was honored to think people would believe someone as good as you, John, would want to marry me. They did not seem to pity you, nor make me feel like I had somehow tricked you into marrying me. They honestly believed you and I could love each other.” Sherlock’s voice caught and he pressed his hands to his mouth.

John was overcome with sadness and affection for his best friend. He sat down on the sofa next to Sherlock and gathered the detective into his arms, resting his cheek against the head on his shoulder. “You know, I don’t understand why our friends would believe someone as beautiful and brilliant as you would want to marry anyone as ordinary as me. I’m the one who is honored.” John kissed the top of the sweet smelling curls. “You deserve to be loved, Sherlock, if that is what you want.”

Long arms tentatively moved around John’s waist, and they tightened as Sherlock whispered, “I meant everything I said today.”

Thinking back to their improvised personal vows, John responded with a squeeze around Sherlock’s shoulders. “Me, too.”

The two men remained in that position for a few moments,and then John sensed the slightest brush of lips against his neck as Sherlock moved away and stood.  He loosened his tie, and stretched his arms above his head. “Guess I’ll take that shower now. Good night, John.”  Sherlock squeezed John’s shoulder and moved to toss the paperwork into the trash.

“Wait!”

Sherlock halted and looked at John quizzically.

John said, “I think we should keep that one for the casebook, don’t you?”

Sherlock smiled and handed the document to John. “Of course.” Then Sherlock gathered his pajamas and toiletries and went into the bathroom.

In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, John’s signature, as well as those of Sherlock, the registrar, Mycroft, and Greg, seemed small and trivial.  _Why is ink spilled on paper symbolic of a lifelong commitment and not blood spilled on pavement?_ John walked over to the desk and carefully folded the marriage certificate into an envelope from the stack of hotel stationary.  He tucked the envelope into his suitcase before crawling under the thick duvet on the bed.

As he closed his eyes, John heard the water running in the shower. He sighed contentedly as he remembered three years with no sounds of Sherlock’s life.  The emptiness not even his life with Mary completely filled.  This was definitely not the relationship John had envisioned for himself, but he could not imagine ever being more committed to anyone than the madman he had pledged himself to in a fake wedding ceremony earlier that day. As he listened to Sherlock’s movements in the next room, John drifted off to dream of the gentle flirting of the past weeks, their kisses and warm embrace, and the vows that promised a future full of friendship and love.


End file.
